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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668338">The Little Lark and the Big, Bad Witchers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickenGoesMoo/pseuds/ChickenGoesMoo'>ChickenGoesMoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wings, Blood and Injury, Cultural Differences, Injured Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier has wings, Kaer Morhen, Language Barrier, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Wolves, Wing Kink, Winged Jaskier, Wingfic, Wings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:29:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickenGoesMoo/pseuds/ChickenGoesMoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After suffering a terrible injury to his wing, Jaskier is lucky enough to come across an abandoned fortress on the top of a secluded mountain to hide in while he licks his wounds. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, when the four Witchers return to Kaer Morhen to settle in for the long winter, they find that someone has broken in. That someone has also stolen food and drink from their pantry, and left the den a complete mess. And that same someone also broke into Geralt’s bed chambers… and he’s still there!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>609</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Little Lark and the Big, Bad Witchers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Pft!” Jaskier’s teeth chattered while he laughed at his own stupidity, stumbling up the mountainside in a manner he would refer to as ‘drunkenly’ were he not absolutely certain of his unfortunate sobriety. “‘Let’s run away,’ I said. ‘Humans can’t be all that bad,’ I said! ‘Surely weathering their barbaric rules and customs would be better than remaining in Avora.’” Jaskier shivered violently, one wing winding even tighter around his shoulders to try to keep the fat flakes of snow at bay. “Should have listened to everyone back home. Especially when they called me a useless moron.” Jaskier continued to curse his luck as he trudged up the steep and rocky incline of the mountain. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear his complaints. He would have had a small army of servants back in Avora that would politely nod along as he listed his woes one after the next, all adorned with flat, uncaring faces as they groomed his bland wings (much blander than their own) and wrapped his body in fine silks befitting of his station. None of them ever really listened, though. Not unless what he said could possibly be used against him to gain his parents’ favor. </p>
<p>He couldn’t believe he somehow survived the trek up as far as he did without the use of his wings. His legs were in agony, no doubt strained from running for far longer than his body was used to on little more than adrenaline and a heaping helping of fear. His legs and feet were bruised from the many times he had slipped in the mud and icy rocks as the rain turned to snow when the temperature plummeted as he continued to climb higher in hopes he would be able to out climb the humans chasing him, at the very least. Thankfully, the further he got and the worse the weather became, the more sure he was that the little band of men had given up searching for his hide in favor of saving their own from the oncoming storm and rough terrain. That had probably been a good call on their part. </p>
<p>Jaskier couldn’t even feel his wings anymore. It was probably for the best, though that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. A thick wooden bolt from one of the humans’ weapons still protruded from the bloodied, tawny down on his right, which he held tight to his breast in order to avoid jostling while using it for cover against the elements. His left wing, which he hoped he had only dislocated in the spiraling fall that followed after getting shot down, hung limp. Fortunately, with the way it was dragging behind him, it’s feathers dusted over his footprints in the snow, making him harder to follow or track. Unfortunately? It also meant that ice caked his thick flight feathers, numbing the whole thing up to where it connected to his back. </p>
<p>Jaskier looked ahead, shielding his eyes from the now heavy snowstorm with a forearm, hoping he would be able to make out some caves, maybe somewhere to hide away until the storm slowed down and he could find his way back down the mountain. Someplace where he could lick his wounds and curse himself for not listening to his parents when they told him to never leave their mountain, and that humans would sooner kill him and take his wings than look at him. Nothing appeared. </p>
<p>Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision. Just the thought of remaining home in Avora with his own kind made another shiver tear through his slender form. Well, maybe that was just the cold. </p>
<p>He had been fully prepared to accept death over the life he had waiting for him when he first stole away in the dead of night. Though, now he was wondering if he had been a bit too hasty. After all, his life up until that point had been pretty cushy. A ‘pillow pigeon,’ others had mockingly called him. One thing was certain, the soft, luxurious life the less fortunate often despised him for hadn’t at all prepared him for the harsh cruelties of the world beyond the brambles that circled their home mountain, keeping them safe and keeping all those that once wished them harm at bay. </p>
<p>Never before had he lain eyes on any form of monster or beast except for the few depictions of them illustrated in old, out of date tomes till a few days after he left. He woke on his first night to the sight of an enormously large brown beast with thick fur covering its body, large paws, and a huge snout filled with sharp teeth. He assumed it was a bear, though it was nothing like the sweet little plush animals he often saw fledglings cuddling. He had just barely managed to escape with his life when it charged him, but unfortunately, the pack of meager supplies he thought would help ensure his survival was long gone, along with his food. After that, he had flown to the nearest stream and attempted to catch a fish, but before he could, a large, bloated, humanoid type creature arose from the muck and tried to attack him. Assuming that it thought he meant it harm, he attempted to talk it down, but it let out a shriek and a gurgle, and more rose from the stream and attempted to drag him down, acting more like animals than any sentient being he knew of. He flew off again, stomach still empty, but fortunately unscathed. </p>
<p>Over the next several days he figured out that running and struggling would be his new normal. He quickly learned not all berries were for eating after a handful made him deliriously sick for a day. His feathers were left ruffled and unattended because every time he tried to sit still long enough to straighten them something else would happen. A group of creatures on four legs that howled frightfully tried to attack him one night, causing him to sleep in trees from then on, no matter how uncomfortable. An eagle tried to attack him for flying too close to its nest, along with the occasional flock of small birds. A storm the likes of which he had never been forced to whether nearly smashed him into a cliff face, where he hid in a cave till the storm passed, only to be chased off by a large, four pawed beast with a great mane and huge wings that were nearly strong enough to overcome him. </p>
<p>By then he was so mixed up and turned around, covered in twigs, leaves,scratches, and dirt, that he wouldn’t have been able to find his way back to Avora if he wanted to. </p>
<p>In the hundreds of years since his people escaped from subjugation and slaughter by both elves and humans, the land had changed. No matter how high Jaskier flew, none of the land looked anything like what he saw in his history books. New rivers and streams had watersheds where there never had been before, emptying into large lakes he hadn’t seen on the old maps that hung in his father’s den. Forests had both grown and been cut down since their kind last looked at the face of the continent, and new dwellings rose up while ruins were left in others’ wake. Not to mention there were so many mountains, and they all looked the same at a distance.</p>
<p>So, Jaskier decided he would continue onward, hoping he might get lucky enough to run into a sentient creature that might be willing to aid him.  </p>
<p>Of course, the first beings he was unfortunate to find matching that description just had to be humans. Just like his mother and father and all of the elders had warned, they attacked before he could even get a word out in greeting. He tried to talk to them, let them know he didn’t wish them harm, but language must have changed greatly over time as well, because none of them understood him and his kinds’ branch of elder speak, thrusting knives at him, swinging blades and shouting. </p>
<p>He buffeted a few back with a strong gust from his wings when they got too close, and one fell and landed on his own blade with a cry, while another knocked his head on a tree branch, another a rock. Any hope he had of convincing them this was all a misunderstanding was shot as they turned back to him, a spark in their eyes, ready to avenge their fallen brothers. </p>
<p>He took to the sky, congratulating himself on barely managing to escape again, when he was shot down by one of their weapons. A bow of some kind, much more advanced than what he was used to seeing his people practice with, both as a means to hunt, and in hopes they might be able to protect themselves should a threat invade their lands. </p>
<p>He was somehow able to evade them on foot for long enough that none saw him slip onto a hidden path that wound up the mountain, never once slowing down out of fear they might stumble across it and him. That was when he learned that his shoes were made for flight, not snow or walking, much less running up a mountain from a group of angry humans after his blood, and who knew what else. By the time he was sure he lost them, and himself, his boots were worn to near nothing, and the snow soaked his feet and bit into the tips of his toes. </p>
<p>Which was how he ended up where he was, cursing his luck, and fighting off a sudden and unsettling bout of drowsiness. </p>
<p>It felt like he had been walking in circles up the jagged mountainside for hours. Unfortunately, the way he chose seemed to be nearly as perilous as the one he left behind with the humans. Still, if Jaskier had learned anything about himself over the course of the past several days, he wouldn't give up so easily, no matter how much he whined like he would. </p>
<p>The path ahead widened and narrowed at random, as well as becoming steeper and jagged without warning, but he persevered. Jaskier soon began to  fear that, should he keep on following it upward, he might just end up at a dead-end without the energy to carry himself back down again. </p>
<p>Just as Jaskier was considering giving up, collapsing into the snow and letting it swallow him whole like the dramatic, silly songbird he was, a looming shadow appeared in the heavy, dense wall of snow ahead of him. He strained his eyes and stumbled forward at a quickening pace, towards what he was positive was the silhouette of a dwelling of some sort, and his only hope for miles to get out of the storm and somewhere safe and warm. His heart leapt with joy, even as he tried to temper it back out of fear that it might just be oddly formed snowdrifts, or a mirage, built from his desperate fantasies having gone days without food or a friendly face. </p>
<p>It was too far up the mountain to be normal, but Jaskier didn't have the luxury of being picky. He knew no normal human would force themselves up and down such a steep mountain with a single hidden path, just to get food from the very distant village below. Especially not if winters hit as bad as the one Jaskier was currently dragging himself through. No normal human would survive such a journey. Even Jaskier, with wings to ease the way were he at full strength, would more than likely die should he ever find himself having to risk such an endeavor again.</p>
<p>Jaskier picked up his pace, his heart in his throat as he dragged himself and his wing through the heavy snow. The shadow of the cliff grew bigger as he kept walking, and in the place of what he originally assumed was a decent sized house at the base of the rocky ledge loomed a much larger, castle-like structure, with a large, stone front gate in the place of the steep cliff he imagined it was at a distance, when it was little more than a silhouetted backdrop to the storm. </p>
<p>“Curious,” Jaskier hummed to himself as he drew closer, keeping a wary eye out for candles in the windows, but none were lit that he could see. A large, metal gate that Jaskier assumed was once manned by a person in the watchtower nearby was left eerily open, further confirming Jaskier’s assumption that the fortress was empty. </p>
<p>He wondered if anyone else had found it over the years since it had been vacated, considering how hard to find and barely worn the path to get to it was. Whoever lived there before obviously didn’t want to be found. Perhaps he was the first one to discover it in centuries! What a great story that would make if he ever found his way back to Avora. The story of the empty fortress. That sounded like a wonderful title of a song he could sing to the fledglings. Actual stories from beyond. Everyone would be in awe! </p>
<p>Jaskier carefully ducked under the gate and reached a large courtyard within, leading up to the huge fortress he now could see was built into the side of the cliff. He looked up at the walls as he neared them. The windows were barred for some odd reason. Perhaps to keep creatures out. Surely the monsters in the mountains were fierce and strong enough to survive such an unforgiving habitat. It explained the need for a gate as well. </p>
<p>The walls were much too high for him to climb in hopes of finding an entrance at the top of one of the overlooking towers, especially without the use of his wings. Didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t attempt to flex his feathers, instantly regretting it as pain flared across his wings and zinged up his back. </p>
<p>He tucked his wings closer again, quickly beginning to follow the wall in hopes he might come across a door or an entrance of some sort he could force his way through. </p>
<p>After nearly ten minutes of searching in the freezing cold that was making it harder and harder to keep his eyes open, Jaskier finally came across a large iron door. </p>
<p>Jaskier pushed and pulled and banged on the metal surface, but it didn’t budge an inch. He wasn’t sure if it was frozen shut, or locked, but he couldn’t give up trying. </p>
<p>He bent down and searched the iced door for a keyhole of some sort, then plucked one of the frosted feathers from his numb wing, using the pin like a pick the same way he used to as a fledgling to sneak into the bakery and steal the Rock Candy before anyone else was awake to catch him. Only, it had been very long since he last picked a lock, and his hands were shaking too hard, not to mention the fact that the lock was very different from the ones he was used to on his mountain back home. More modern, he supposed. More than just a common language had to have changed over the many years during which his kind had hidden away. </p>
<p>It took longer than he thought, but just as he was about to give up yet again, and sob against the door as the cold finally took his body and soul, a loud click could be heard. He tugged, and the door swung open just an inch before the mounting snow stopped it in its tracks. Jaskier dug desperately at the ground with trembling fingers, making enough room to finally slip inside and pull the door shut behind him. </p>
<p>Jaskier was quick to shake off his wings, his appendages protesting the movement, but it was best to be free of the snow and cold than continue to let it seep into his feathers and bones any longer than it already had. Jaskier stepped carefully around the chunks of ice and clods of snow he left and continued down the hall, curious as to what he might find despite knowing he should probably worry more about his health. People always warned him that his curiosity would get him in trouble, but if the humans hadn’t succeeded in killing him yet, surely a little stroll around an empty, icy castle wouldn’t?</p>
<p>The halls were dark, and looked abandoned enough that he didn’t fear anyone being home. Still, he strained his ears and eyes for any proof that he wasn’t alone. He reminded himself of the lessons his old master taught him, of how most humans avoided being too far up in the mountains. Something about their lungs not being strong enough for the thin air. However, Jaskier’s body was made for high altitudes, like all of the Avoran people he stupidly left behind all those weeks ago in hopes of forging a new life for himself down below, where the races in his storybooks still lived. He cast a nervous glance out the barred windows, taking in the sight of his old tracks quickly being filled in with snow, along with the path his limp wing made up to the keep. Regular humans wouldn’t stand a chance in those conditions, even with animal furs layered over their bodies. He could finally relax. </p>
<p>Perhaps the keep was an old settlement his people once inhabited, Jaskier pondered with a slowly spreading smile. That seemed somewhat more likely than it belonging to humans. Surely his own little mountainside city wasn’t the only Avoran refuge left in the world since the great hunt all those years ago? Surely other tribes survived, too, and settled elsewhere? </p>
<p>Though… the old fortress seemed rather battle-worn, like someone or something had attacked it. Upon further inspection of very human looking tapestries on the walls, he was reluctant to admit that his people probably weren’t the inhabitants of the castle. </p>
<p>It made him sick knowing that his mother and father were more than likely right, that their little mountain was the last existing haven for the Avoran people on the whole continent, possibly in the whole world. While Avora was fairly populated, their numbers were still devastatingly low for a once proud, peaceful race of people. </p>
<p>“I suppose I haven’t seen the whole world, yet,” Jaskier said, trying to stay positive when the silence of the halls finally got to him. He carefully felt his way along the stone, using the cavernous walls for guidance as they bounced his own elder speech back at him.</p>
<p>Jaskier wandered further into the keep, almost losing himself a time or two in the winding paths of stone until he came to a stop in a large, decently furnished room with a fur rug, several pillows, thick blankets, and long, fabric covered benches that Jaskier had never seen the likes of before. He ran his hand over the soft, thick texture of the cushion’s fabric, nearly trilling his excitement at the feel. His people definitely never learned how to make something so fine over the years. The injuries to his wings were almost worth it just to find out such comforts existed in the world. He grabbed a few of the blankets, feeling them for the many different textures, excitedly draping them over his head when he found one that was a color he liked like the beautiful, eligible young maids from the mountain wore. Oh, he knew most of them would give their left feathers to be able to have even a sliver of the fabric to stitch into a shawl or scarf for dancing or flight. </p>
<p>He continued to amuse himself, finding large wooden chests in which more nesting material was stored that he quickly emptied. All a much finer quality than he was used to on the mountain. And much more abundant. The nest he would be able to make with all that he found would attract everyone he once knew twice over, and he would have the joy of chasing them away from his nest like they were the scourge of the mountain. </p>
<p>There wasn’t a speck of dust on anything, which Jaskier thought was suspicious for only a moment before he dismissed it. After all, the cleanliness of the castle could easily be chalked up to some sort of magic that had yet to fade. </p>
<p>He quickly grew tired of indulging himself in the nice things he found when a harsh shiver and sneeze reminded him that he was still soaked to the bone and chilled from the snowstorm. The sneeze also jostled his wings as they reflexively twitched. He should probably focus on the important, pressing bodily needs and injuries first, and then fawn over his new collection of nesting materials. Otherwise, he might not be able to fawn over much of anything. </p>
<p>A large fireplace sat empty in the far wall, and Jaskier was shocked to find a decent supply of wood in a neighboring room, as well as flint and some sort of wool that could be used as a starter. </p>
<p>It took Jaskier a couple of tries to get a good fire going. Such things were never his strong suit, but he never stopped trying, especially considering, even with the castle walls as protection against the storm outside, the cold was still seeping through the stone, making the floors icy against his wet boots. </p>
<p>Once the fire really started going, Jaskier finally felt relaxed enough to sink into the collection of pillows, taking off his boots to set them by the fire to dry, then removing his pants and the long, fabric strip his people used to cover their torsos. It was easier to wrap something around their chests, under their arms, and crisscross it between their wings to maintain modesty and for maximum coverage than to awkwardly try to force themselves in the once traditional garb of humans and elves. If wrapped correctly, it could look extremely fancy. Of course, Jaskier had dressed for stealth the day of his departure, so the fabric was dull and plain, and not nearly as intricately woven considering he had no-one to help him. </p>
<p>Once he was done removing the disgustingly grimy wrap covered in several days worth of dust and sweat, he arranged the pillows and the blankets and furs to his liking, trying his hardest to make the perfect nest to find comfort in, but there wasn’t nearly enough stuff there to fully satisfy his nature. Jaskier picked the thinnest and least appealing blanket to rip into strips. He should have probably gotten water to clean his wound before tearing the bolt out of his wing, but to be honest, healing wasn’t exactly Jaskier’s strong suit either. Maybe if it had been, the people of Avora would have been willing to put up with him. Maybe, if he had a useful skill, he wouldn’t have ended up running away. </p>
<p>“FUCK!! GODS DAMNIT!! GAHHH!!” Jaskier’s curses bounced and echoed down the stone halls as his hand slipped during his first attempt at extracting the arrow from his swollen, blood-caked wing. If anything did somehow survive within the keep’s walls, it would have definitely come looking for the being making all the racket. Thankfully, nothing did. </p>
<p>Jaskier dropped the bloody bolt to the blanket, quickly pressing the fabric strips to his wings as they flared and lashed out on reflex, reflecting his pain. He hoped he could at least be competent enough to somehow stop the flow of blood as it gushed from the wound anew, staining his brown wings bright red, along with everything that came in contact with his saturated feathers. </p>
<p>By the time Jaskier got the bleeding under control, he felt light-headed and tired. While he succeeded in getting his wing sloppily bandaged, the entire room looked like something had been murdered brutally within. There were even a few blood splatters on the walls from when he lost control of his wing and his feathers flicked it. </p>
<p>He’d have to find a way to clean it all if he was going to be staying in the keep until the storm died down and he was well enough to fly again. Until then, Jaskier decided he would find another room to rest his tired body in and hope it would recover by morning. </p>
<p>Jaskier left the cozy den behind him, clothes still drying by the fire. He wrapped a blanket around himself for modesty’s sake, tying the corners around his shoulders like a cape before moving on. </p>
<p>Fortunately, before finding any form of bed, he stumbled upon a pantry, which had jars of preserves and bottles of fermented liquids that had survived the years. He happily indulged himself before moving on. </p>
<p>Jaskier eventually happened upon a hallway lined with doors, each containing a bedroom of some kind. It must have been the living quarters back when its inhabitants still lived there. The first room was too narrow for his wingspan, and he almost couldn’t get through the door with how messy the inhabitant left it. </p>
<p>Jaskier tiptoed on the cold stone floor both wings dragging behind him and into the next room, which was much bigger and spacious enough to fit the large pieces of handcrafted furniture, neatly organized and pristine. However, that room seemed to have a draft in it, making it far too cold. So, Jaskier stole the blankets and pillows off of that bed and made his way down the hall to the next room. </p>
<p>The next room wasn’t so big it had drafts, nor did it have bulky furniture, but it also wasn’t so small it felt cramped. It was just right. No personal touches remained inside like the others. Just a solitary bed shoved against the far wall, which was far too small to house both Jaskier’s body and his large wings comfortably, but Jaskier was sure he would be able to make it work if he just removed the mattress and laid it on the floor, so he could stretch his broken wings across the ground to prevent further injury. Of course, to do that, he had to flit back and forth between all of the bedrooms, including a fourth much bigger but well furnished bedroom further down the hall, to drag more bedding and even another mattress and furs, all into the same room. </p>
<p>Eventually, Jaskier was done fussing over his new nest he would be inhabiting for the next few days, placing blankets and pillows around the edge so he could avoid letting his hurt wings smack painfully into the walls in his sleep. His head felt light, and he wasn’t sure if that was due to the blood loss, exhaustion, or the strange alcohol he had found in the pantry, but he couldn’t fight the drowsy feeling for too much longer. Once he was certain everything was taken care of, Jaskier settled in for a long, much deserved rest.</p>
<p>“Everything always looks better in the morning,” Jaskier tried to tell himself before drifting off. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>——————</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Geralt was the last to join Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir in the tavern that year. He knew when he crossed the unusually cool river into Kaedwen that he had been cutting it close. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the others had grown tired of waiting for his return and instead chose to begin the trip to their winter home without him. </p>
<p>Every year, if they were lucky, they would meet up at the village at the base of the mountains and would barter and trade for all they would need to last the winter, including some extra grain or hay for the horses if the tower was running low, though it was usually restocked before winter hit when the price was low and the weather was warm enough for Vesemir to travel to the town to order supplies in exchange for the odd job here and there with farmers who had pest problems. </p>
<p>A Witcher’s life was a hard one, after all. None of them would have been too surprised if one of the others didn’t return at the end of the season. Jobs occasionally ran long, after all, and monsters usually put up a hell of a fight. The Path was their way of life and one day it would claim them. Then again, sometimes one of their numbers would simply miss their chance to head up the mountain before the first winter storm covered the only possible path with snow and ice. They would return the following year like it never happened, and be welcomed with open arms. It was hard to hold grudges against your brothers in such an uncertain trade. Monster hunting was perilous, and fate could oftentimes be even more cruel than the creatures they faced. </p>
<p>Fortunately, when he made it to the tavern they normally stopped at before winter struck, he noticed the three other Witchers sitting at a secluded table in the corner, Lambert losing a game of Gwent to Eskel from the looks of it, and Vesemir making lists of supplies they would need to buy with their remaining gold to last the winter. </p>
<p>When he drew close enough to the table, Eskel must have sensed him, because his head rose and his lips quirked to the side in a roguish smile. “Geralt,” he greeted, arms thrown wide, accidentally showing off his hand to the room. Not that it really mattered. “So nice of you to drop in. Any chance I can convince you to play the winner? And by winner, I obviously mean myself.”</p>
<p>“Shut up and put your cards where your mouth is,” Lambert grumbled, slamming a card down on the table with a bit more force than was necessary, causing the table to groan and the bartender to look their way with a frightened scowl. </p>
<p>“You’re unusually spirited,” Geralt said, lip just barely ticking upward at the sight of his oldest and dearest friend.</p>
<p>Eskel’s gaze softened, raising from his seat so he could greet Geralt properly, clasping his forearm and resting his other palm over Geralt’s shoulder. He stood like that a moment longer, taking in Geralt’s stature, no doubt scanning him for injuries, both seen and unseen. “Cutting it a bit close this year. I was beginning to worry. You can’t blame me for being a little spirited at the sight of you, now can you?”</p>
<p>Geralt grunted at the sentiment, letting his arm drop before squeezing Eskel’s shoulder in return. He turned his gaze upon Vesemir next, pulling his satchel of coins from his belt and placing it on the table before the old man. </p>
<p>Vesemir dumped the contents on the table before him, counting it out. Were they regular human patrons, such a thing would no doubt inspire thieves and thugs to do what they do best, but even the most foolish drunks were well aware that stealing from one Witcher was close enough to a death sentence. Stealing from four would ensure it. </p>
<p>“Not as much as last year, I see,” Vesemir spoke with a sigh, adjusting the numbers in his ledger before motioning the barmaid to bring another mug of ale and plate of dinner for their new arrival. He added Geralt’s money to a larger pouch, leaving just enough on the table in front of them to pay for their meals and drinks. </p>
<p>Geralt hummed, taking off his swords and leaning them against the wall before pulling out the remaining chair, Eskel returning to his own seat and the game shortly after. “Jobs grew more scarce. And people, more fearful and stingy.”</p>
<p>“Maybe they wouldn’t be so frightened if you would do something about that hair,” Lambert teased, reaching across the table to ruffle the somewhat tamed hair, loosening the leather strap that kept it up and out of the way. “You look like a banshee with those long strands covering that grumpy scowl. Please let me do something to it this year. Even if it is just shaving the sides a bit. You’ll thank me, I promise.” </p>
<p>Geralt could have easily stopped the hand if he had wanted, but it had been far too long since he had companionship that didn’t fear and flinch like he would slice off their hands for touching him in such a manner. Every winter when he was able to return, it always reminded him of how hard it was to be himself around anyone that wasn’t family like he was with his brothers in the sanctity of Kaer Morhen. After months of cruel and vicious words and actions from people across the continent, it was nice to have some familiar banter and familial teasing. </p>
<p>“I’ll pack up all we need into the cart in the morning, as soon as the markets open,” Vesemir said, drawing all of their attention back to himself. “Two of you will have to ready your horses to pull it, and the horse leftover can be loaded with what won’t fit in the cart. We leave at midday. Be prepared to move.”</p>
<p>The other three Witchers nodded, wishing Vesemir a good night when he left to retire in his room. Shortly after, the others finished eating and cleaning up their game to retire as well. </p>
<p>In the morning, everything went off without a hitch. Geralt, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir were headed up the mountain far sooner than they thought, cart and horses loaded up with all they could carry. That year they had saved up enough with their final jobs of the year for a few extra chickens, a couple of milking goats tethered to the back of their cart, several cases of mead, and ice filled boxes of venison that they had hunted themselves, some wolf meat jerky, several dozen rabbits that they had trapped, and a couple of cows worth of meat from a butcher for a fair price due to a job they had helped him with in the past. They also had a few preserve jars full of produce, though Vesemir promised the root cellars were full of enough produce to last them the season due to a drowner problem near one man’s home. So, instead of spending their money on more food that was expensive due to the end of the season, they spent it on linens and yarn, to hopefully give them something to pass the time between practice, sparing and endless repairs around the ruins that were what was left of Kaer Morhen. </p>
<p>The inhabitants of the town no doubt breathed a sigh of relief at their departure. </p>
<p>The Witchers knew, from years of traveling up the mountain, that it would be quite some time till they reached their destination. Lambert and Eskel made it a competition on who could catch the most wild game on the way up, as they did most years, loading up a dead goose, a twelve-point buck, a couple of rabbits, and a few birds along the way. Even Geralt would pitch in on occasion, adding whatever he caught to Eskel’s pile when Lambert wasn’t looking. </p>
<p>It was, as always, a long journey in and of itself, especially with the ever inventive trash talk between the two that occasionally devolved into brawls when they stopped to rest the horses. This time it was made even longer when they ran into a horde of bandits on their way up. </p>
<p>They seemed to be incensed at having missed their last score for the season, shouting curses about losing track of their game that evening, when they finally caught sight of the four. Seeing the Witchers, three horses, and a cart full of their winter provisions was too much for the desperate thieves to ignore, especially with a winter storm nipping at their heels, significantly lowering their chance of finding a wealthy traveler to accost for the next several months. </p>
<p>Of course, a baker’s dozen of thieves was nothing compared to four strong, capable Witchers returning to their mountain for the season. Especially when a few of those thieves had an injury of some sort. Several were cut down quickly, while the rest ran off into the woods like cowards when they realized their numbers were no match for the supernatural might of the mutant warriors. Quite honestly, with how pent up Lambert got the few days before they would head up to the keep, he could have probably dealt with the bandits all by himself. However, when they targeted the horses, all bets were off. </p>
<p>The scuffle ended quickly, and the four Witchers continued their pace up the mountain as the first few flakes of snow reached them. Looking ahead, it was obvious they wouldn’t be able to rest as often anymore. The first storm of the season was often the worst, and they needed to reach the keep soon if they expected to keep the livestock they purchased alive and unfrozen</p>
<p>Geralt picked up on the scent of monster blood as they picked up the pace, mingled with human blood, confirming the thieves boasts of nearly capturing another mutant of some sort earlier that day. Whatever it was, it smelled unlike anything Geralt had ever come across before. An odd mix between a human, a harpy, and a cockatrice, if such a thing could exist. Despite how powerful most of those creatures could be, if it was cornered and bested by thirteen men, he doubted it would survive what damage they inflicted on it. Especially with the amount of blood he smelled in the forest surrounding them once they finally dispatched the bandits and made their way up the mountain and onto the hidden path to the keep. Well, actually it must have been fourteen at one point. As the smell got stronger, their group came across a dead man with a dusting of snow blanketing his body. Looking for wounds that might tell them what kind of beast he fought, they were disappointed to discover that the man had more than likely tripped and fallen on his blade before the fight had even started. </p>
<p>Vesemir’s nostrils flared when they reached a section where the tree limbs broke moments later. Had the snow not been so heavy, they may have been able to see the way the ground was disturbed beneath a tree, and a dark patch of blood staining the dirt. However, the snow didn’t stop them from smelling the creature. They all paused, instincts kicking. They all exchanged quick glances. </p>
<p>Vesemir’s eyes kept searching the heavily snow covered path that would soon enough be filled in as the storm raged on, effectively trapping them in their mountain fortress for the rest of the season. He strained his ears, but heard nothing, frowning at what that no doubt meant for the poor beast. No creature, man or monster, would survive whatever the bandits had done to it so long as it remained out in such weather. It was quite possibly already in its frozen grave where they might come across its remains come springtime. Unfortunately, there was no time nor point to go searching for a creature that the humans had chased up the mountains this close to their home when it would doubtfully survive long enough to cause them any problems. </p>
<p>So, rather than deviate from their path, the group of Witchers continued to ascend the mountain. </p>
<p>The trek up the winding path to the keep they had once practiced on growing up was much easier than it had once been, only made difficult by the cart and making sure none of the horses twisted a hoof in unseen holes paved over by the snow. </p>
<p>It wasn’t until they passed the gate, quickly settling the animals into the warm stable with food and water for the night, that they first noticed something was wrong. </p>
<p>Vesemir reached for his ring of keys, drawing them out of his pocket while reaching for the heavy doors. Before he could even place the key in the lock, however, he noticed the way snow had caught in the tread of the doorway, preventing it from shutting completely. That, however, couldn’t have been caused by his own departure, as he had descended to the village weeks ago to wait for the others’ arrivals. Long before the snow began falling. </p>
<p>Vesemir pulled the door open with a harsh tug, the snow bunching to the side under his strength. Whoever had come had picked the lock and entered long enough ago that the snow would cover its tracks, otherwise they would have noticed a trace of them on the way up. </p>
<p>Before Vesemir could bring it to the other three Witchers’ attention, Lambert pushed his way past them impatiently. “It’s fucking cold out,” he grumbled. He was probably going to say something a little more insulting and aggressive, but as he stepped onto the smooth stone floor, mouth open and scowl fierce, the blood of a few of the bandits still bright against his cheek, he slipped in an icy mess left on the stone entryway. </p>
<p>Eskel was quick to step forward next, yanking the moron off the floor, who was now cursing up a storm about his arse, while Geralt and Vesemir stood back and observed the scene. </p>
<p>“Someone broke into the keep,” Vesemir stated. He eyed the other Witchers wearily before looking in each direction down the hall, scenting the air. </p>
<p>“The creature the bandits tormented from the smell of it,” Eskel added with a frown. “Poor thing must have been looking for a place to hide from the men and weather.”</p>
<p>Geralt knelt in the snow piled behind the door, eyes trained on a dark brown object buried in the slush. For a moment, he mistakenly thought it was dirt until he took in the distinct shape it maintained despite being trod on. He carefully pried it free and held it up. </p>
<p>“A feather?” Lambert snatched it from Geralt’s fingers. “Well that’s just great. What kind of creature has a feather this big? A griffin, perhaps?”</p>
<p>“Obviously not,” Eskel said. “Unless they have grown opposable thumbs since last I checked, and became intelligent enough to use their own feathers as lock picks.” Eskel held out his hand for the feather, bending it to check its density, finding it surprisingly sturdy. “Even with harpies, I’ve never seen one attempt such a thing. Of course, their feathers are more hollow than this one. They usually fly in groups, anyway, which means one can’t be our visitor. This thing, whatever it is, is alone, by the looks of it. And frightened and injured, poor thing. Not a good combination, for it or us, as much as I hate to say it.”</p>
<p>Vesemir nodded, tracking a small trail of water down one of the halls. “It looks like it was dragging something.”</p>
<p>“The body of one of its victims, perhaps?” Lambert’s eyes narrowed. </p>
<p>Eskel snorted. “Is that what we are calling the thieves from the woods now? Innocent victims? Because if that’s the case, we’re just as bad. Also, I feel a whole lot less sorry for the beating we gave them.”</p>
<p>Vesemir motioned the other three forward, gaining their attention and cooperation. “Let’s move forward with caution, and stay together until we know who or what we are facing. Be they man or beast, they must be fairly strong to have made it up the mountain in this weather. Keep your guard up. We shall clear the rooms as we go. And for crying out loud, Lambert and Eskel, quit your bickering. You’ll alert the whole mountain of our presence.”</p>
<p>All of their previous demeanors shifted, and suddenly, there stood four powerful, supernatural hunters, prepared to defend what was left of their home and family from whatever trespasser lay in wait for them. </p>
<p>Geralt kept a hand on the hilt of his silver sword, leading the pack and opening every door on their way while Lambert drew and loaded a crossbow from a strap on his back. Vesemir unsheathed twin knives from straps on his thighs, and Eskel brought up the rear, nothing raised but his hands in preparation to throw signs at the first movement he might catch in the shadows behind them. Hopefully, whatever they were facing wouldn’t be able to see in the dark as well as them. </p>
<p>Their sense of smell was quick to pick up on smoke and burning wood further down the hall. They followed the smell to their den, where the warm, rich light of a burning fire brightened their path. They all looked between each other, locking eyes at the knowledge that whatever it was they were facing, it was smart enough to start a fire, or it used magic, though, by the feel of their medallions, magic was more than likely not the cause of it. </p>
<p>The sight that met them once they stepped inside was not a pretty one. </p>
<p>Eskel was quick to step forward, running his fingers across a splatter of red on the wall, face going pale. “Blood of some sort. Not human, ” he said after a quick sniff, rubbing the stuff off on his pants.</p>
<p>“Looks like there was a fight.” Lambert picked up the blankets that had been speckled with blood, too. “Are we sure it was alone? Whatever happened in here made it bleed worse than what we smelled in the forest. Hopefully, that will give us an advantage. I could kill the thing for ruining the blankets anyway. I’m itching for one last good fight before winter starts.” He held up a thick, woolen blanket that was spattered with wet blood. “This one was my favorite. Look what it did to it.”</p>
<p>“I only smell one… whatever it is,” said Vesemir. “We should continue to tread lightly. After all, the creature had enough intelligence to pick the lock, start a fire, and who knows what else. It’s intelligent.” He quickly picked up the dirtied blankets and folded them into a pile for washing later. “Most of these can be salvaged” He located Geralt’s usual blanket, which seemed to be shredded into pieces. “This, unfortunately, is beyond my expertise.”</p>
<p>Geralt stepped forward to take it, wordlessly looking it over. The blood was heaviest on the crinkled fabric, almost like it was used to staunch the flow of an extremely bad wound. He shook it out. </p>
<p>“There’s fucking feathers everywhere. Whatever it is, it better not have ripped any of the pillows.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s eyes widened at Lambert’s words. He looked closer at the things that had fallen from the bunched cloth. “I think, whatever we have on our hands, it does have feathers of some kind. These are similar to what we saw at the door. Look.” </p>
<p>They all turned to see the blood matted feathers now resting in Geralt’s palm.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Eskel cursed. “But it doesn’t smell like a harpy, as I said… and I can’t imagine any being this far inland and up the mountain, but nothing else fits. Have you ever smelled something like this before in your experience?” </p>
<p>They all turned to look at Vesemir for some sort of guidance, but for once, he seemed to be at a loss. “Never. Though, I don’t think it was having a fight in here. Judging by the ripped cloth and blood, I would say it was trying to heal itself.”</p>
<p>As soon as the words left his mouth, Eskel’s eye caught on something sticking out from beneath the edge of the furniture. “I think I’ve found what the humans managed to injure it with.” He held up the large, wooden bolt, running a finger over its point and wincing in sympathy. “The blood is still, fresh, though a bit tacky. I would estimate that it couldn’t have been here for more than an hour. Maybe two since it was pulled.”</p>
<p>“Hey, look at this,” Lambert called, turning all of the attention to a small pile of wet fabrics drying near the fire. He was prodding at it with a poker. </p>
<p>Geralt moved quickly over to investigate, pulling a very long strip of dyed fabric from the pile first, then a pair of slim pants, far too small to belong to any of them, and a pair of thin shoes that were drenched and nearly worn through at the bottom. </p>
<p>“As suspected,” Eskel muttered behind him, watching as the garments were sorted, “whatever it is, it’s sentient enough to wear, if not craft, clothing. Though, this is not nearly warm enough for it to have survived climbing up the mountain with. The fabric is thin. Where is its shirt?”</p>
<p>“Then it must be some kind of a fae or mutant we haven’t met before,” Lambert said with a smirk, eyes glinting with excitement. “Real smart of it to stop in a Witcher’s den.”</p>
<p>Eskel shot an angry glower Lambert’s way. </p>
<p>“It may not have had a choice.” Vesemir tapped his chin as he observed the evidence. “Be on guard. While this thing may be intelligent, it was recently attacked, and will no doubt be easily spooked. I’m sure of it. We all know how cruel men can be.”</p>
<p>They all nodded, except for Lambert, who scoffed and stormed out of the room, heading down the hall, nostrils flaring as he tried to track its scent. It wasn’t hard now that they had a clear smell of foreign blood to track. The others followed behind, ready to reign him in should the need occur. </p>
<p>They passed several halls, eventually finding their pantry had been raided, an empty bottle of spirits and jar of jam letting them know that their mystery beast had been through recently. The lids of all the containers had been unscrewed and uncorked, further probing their suspicions that it had hands and not claws or hooves. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, the scent got the strongest as soon as they neared their sleeping chambers. Whatever it was, it either spent a very long time pacing back and forth down the hall or…</p>
<p>“It’s still here,” Eskel hissed, eyeing each of the doors wearily. “Let’s check the rooms one by one. Quietly. We don’t want to spook it.”</p>
<p>Of course, Lambert kicked his door open as noisily as he could. They all peered inside after him. The room was a mess, but it was hard to determine if it was caused by the creature, or it was just the way their fellow Witcher left it at the end of last year. </p>
<p>“Damn thing stole my blankets!” Lambert kicked his bed and spun on his heels to face the others, gesturing at his bed. </p>
<p>“That’s all you see is wrong with this room? I thought I raised you better. Are you sure you didn’t just misplace them,” Vesemir said dryly. “You didn’t check under that pile of garbage over there.”</p>
<p>“Now is not the time. Monster, remember?”</p>
<p>Vesemir sighed and nodded, motioning to the next door. “Eskel, your room is next.”</p>
<p>Eskel, opposite of how Lambert reacted, opened his door quietly, making sure not to rattle the doorknob before pushing it open. </p>
<p>The blankets were missing from his bed, too. And the pillows. </p>
<p>“Hmm… curious.” Just to be sure, he walked in and opened a few of his drawers and cabinets. Nothing was inside. “Geralt? I guess you’re up.”</p>
<p>Geralt, however, was nowhere to be seen, causing all of the other Witchers to tense up and grab their weapons, worried the creature had somehow taken him without any of them noticing. </p>
<p>Fortunately (and somewhat unfortunately), Geralt was completely fine. Shortly before Lambert’s room, he had decided to scout ahead on his own, knowing the others were nearby to help if he came across anything he couldn’t handle, which was doubtful. He opened his door easily, sound going unnoticed as the others bickered over Lambert’s messy quarters, making him glad he had decided to separate from the others.</p>
<p>To be honest, he wasn’t expecting what he found on the other side of the door. After all, the missing bedding was one thing, strewn across the floor of his room in a very similar pattern to what they had found in the den. A handsome, naked stranger face down on the floor of your bed chamber on top of and surrounded by blankets, pillows, and mattresses was another. But for that very same man to have large, brown wings protruding from his back was a bit too much for even someone of Geralt’s profession to comprehend. </p>
<p>The image was absolutely ethereal. The length of feathers nearly took up the whole room, from one end to another, tips nearly brushing the wall on both sides. His mattress had been stripped from its frame and rested beneath the exotic, slumbering creature as it snuffled, snorted, and drooled in a rather juxtaposing inelegance into his pillow.  Someone else’s mattress must have gotten pinched by the creature as well, he could just make out the second frame resting long-ways beneath one of its wings. Fat lot of good it seemed to be doing, though, considering its wing was much larger than what it was resting on. </p>
<p>Geralt silently stepped into the room, doing his best to avoid treading on the injured, and battle ruffled down while the creature continued to snore. The unfortunate soul had obviously been through a lot judging by the state of its body. Its fingernails were caked in dry blood, no doubt from tending to one of its wings, which was wrapped unskillfully in what was left of the blanket they had found torn in the den. </p>
<p>Geralt balanced on the balls of his feet as he knelt down to better observe the creature. It was sleeping on its stomach, it’s shapely arse uncovered while its limbs remained in a tangle of sheets and blankets. What Geralt could see of its face was flushed with the alcohol that laced its breath, no doubt the very drink it had stolen from the stores.  </p>
<p>As he suspected, it looked nothing like a harpy. Much more human or elvish in the face, which looked enchantingly vulnerable in sleep, though that tended to be the case with most things. Geralt suspected it was male by the shape of its body, and contours of its face, though suspicions meant little when dealing with other races. Its lashes were unnaturally long, no doubt to better shield it’s eyes from dust and bugs as it flew, but currently, they were shadowing flushed cheeks. Chapped (possibly from dehydration), heavily bitten lips were also slightly parted, revealing no sharp teeth that Geralt could see. Still, to be certain, he carefully reached down and used a thumb to part its mouth just the tiniest bit more. The creature stirred but didn’t wake, though it did lean the slightest bit into Geralt’s touch as he confirmed his suspicions. It’s teeth were similar to a human’s. Not a monster’s. And judging by the feel of his medallion around his neck, it had no magical abilities to speak of. </p>
<p>Once Geralt was satisfied with what he could see, he let his gaze drift down, across bare shoulders to where the large, feathered appendages connected to its back. There was a patch of smaller, fluffy feathers that dusted between the being’s wings and shoulders, and a smaller trail of even thinner feathers that looked more like a trail of hair that made a path down the creature’s spine, ending just before reaching its perky cheeks. Geralt fought a flush down when he took note of how surprisingly shapely it was. </p>
<p>He turned his attention back to the wing joints, noticing the way one of its shoulder blades, or where those would be on a human, was swollen and red just beneath its feathers. Another possible injury, to match the more obvious wound on its opposing wing. The wing was sticking out at a slightly different angle as well, reminding him of a small lark with a broken bone he and Lambert had found and nursed back to health in their younger years. </p>
<p>The poor creature needed sleep. Then, perhaps when it woke, they would be able to try to communicate with it. As it was, there was no way the thing could do them any harm in its current condition. It was naked, no weapons, and both wings were out of commission. They would be more of a threat to it, should it wake, than it to them. </p>
<p>Of course, just as he was about to make his way quietly to the door to let the others know that he had found their visitor, Lambert strode into the room, crossbow still drawn from earlier, but it dropped to the side in shock at the sight that met him.</p>
<p>His eyes landed on the creature, and before Geralt could do anything, or Eskel could reach him and silence him, Lambert did what he did best. </p>
<p>“What the fuck is that?!”</p>
<p>The creature's eyes instantly shot open and met Geralt’s own with a startled, blue gaze. </p>
<p>Then, all hell broke loose. </p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My sincere thanks to Tsukiwolf42 for being my beta and sounding board!!</p>
<p>Hope you enjoyed!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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